As the long hand of her clock began to breach the nine, Mireille Li knew that soon her quiet little store would invite in a steady stream of people. Mostly people in suits or some sort of business wear, who forgot anniversaries or had a date that night, but nothing more than what she could handle on her own.
She pulled back her pin-straight black hair behind her ear, resting her head on her hand as she glanced down at the paper scattered on the counter. She tapped her pen against her desk rhythmically. She read over the bold font of the top of the paper, the expected arrival for her next shipment: October 4, 2013. She hoped it would arrive on time this time, after all cut flowers don't stay fresh for long. Looking around her store, she knew she would have to donate her unsold flowers soon.
She stood up from the unstable, three legged stool which she rested on so frequently and began to wander the store. Checking for the umpteenth time if her shelves were stocked and neat, presenting themselves well to whoever walked in. She would move a vase or two slightly, looking at them satisfied.
The small bell above her door rang as she heard the door open. She peeked out from behind one of the shelves she was examining and saw two men walk into the store. The shorter of the two, dark complected and athletic in build, dressed far more casually than his partner. Who by contrast was pale and lanky, dressed in a neat button down and dress pants. An unusual pair, she thought.
"Hi, welcome in!" she greeted, stepping out from behind the shelf. Mireille flashed a wide smile, as she always did when she greeted customers, smoothing her brown twill apron.
The shorter man walked towards her, the taller man following close behind him. There was something off about these customers, and something told her they weren't there to buy flowers. Though, she couldn't lose her composure, and she continued to smile.
"Are you Mireille Li?" the shorter man asked.
"Yes, I am," Mireille replied. She felt her customary smile drop, her voice losing its enthusiasm. Her suspicions were confirmed but now she didn't quite know how to react. She gripped the bottom of her apron, biting her bottom lip.
"I'm SSA Derek Morgan and this is Doctor Spencer Reid." The man motioned towards his companion. She looked at the doctor, who gave a small smile in greeting. He was quite young, she noted. Maybe her age or not that much older.
"We just need to ask you a few questions," the man who called himself Derek Morgan finished, snapping Mireille out of her thoughts.
"Oh, of course!" Mireille replied, feeling her shoulders relax slightly. She hadn't even realized he had tensed up. Still, she couldn't help but wonder why the FBI was at her store in the first place, running through all the possible reasons in her mind.
"Miss Li, have you noticed any strange purchases made lately?" the man called Doctor Reid asked.
"Depends on what you mean by 'strange.'"
Only after that came out of her mouth Mireille realized she may have sounded a tad snarky, not quite the impression she wanted to leave on federal agents questioning her. Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, she thought to kick herself for that later.
"A man, in his early-to-mid forties," the doctor answered, not missing a beat. The doctor didn't seem to recognize the snark she thought she saw in her comment, either that or he ignored it. "He's probably come in here multiple times and had arrangements sent to multiple women."
Mireille thought for a second. There were plenty of people like that. Some who sent an arrangement to their wife and then their girlfriend. Others snooped out information about their blind dates and would send it to them. She always felt horrible about doing those arrangements.
She ran through her mental list of people who tended to frequent the shop. Not many people did, it was mostly event organizers for weddings and funerals who frequented, hardly ever individuals who frequently sent flowers to other individuals.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers suddenly. "There's a man who's been coming in here every Thursday around four-thirty for the past two months! Just like clockwork, if it's Thursday and four-thirty, he just appears. Sends arrangements to different women every time. "
"Do you know his name?"
"No, unfortunately. He's not the chatty type, I learned. He also never left his name on the orders, which I thought was peculiar. However…"
She walked behind the counter, pulling a thick white binder from behind and dropping it on the counter top. She double checked the inside to make sure she had grabbed the right one before turning back to the men.
"This has a receipt of every single purchase made at this shop this year," she said, pointing to the binder. "And since it's Thursday..."
Mireille looked up at the white clock which hung on the wall to her left. The long arm on the face seemed about to creep up on the bold eleven, the short hand not far behind the four.
"He should be coming in soon. You two are welcome to look through this and wait until he arrives."
This story was kind of something I started writing for fun. Hope you like it!
-L.D.